


dive back in

by surrenderer



Series: kylux positivity week 2.0 [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Duel of the Fates Timeline, Emotional Manipulation, Exes, Force Visions, Getting Back Together, Kylux Positivity Week, Kylux Positivity Week 2020, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, That's Not How The Force Works, mentions of past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer
Summary: “I don’t need a second-in-command waiting for his chance to stab me in the back. What I need is someone who wants to tear this world down with me and build a new one.”Hux doesn't trust the Supreme Leader, not anymore, but Ren just wants him to believe.For Kylux Positivity Week 2.0, Day 1: Chancellor/Supreme Leader
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: kylux positivity week 2.0 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807006
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58
Collections: Kylux Positivity Week 2.0





	dive back in

**Author's Note:**

> For [Kylux Positivity Week](https://twitter.com/kyluxpositivity) Day 1: “Chancellor/Supreme Leader" 
> 
> This takes place a year and a few months after the events of The Last Jedi, and about 2 years before the events of [“with you at your best.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866459) They take place in the same timeline but can be read alone.
> 
> I tagged for "emotional manipulation" and "mentions of past violence." It's fairly mild and most of it falls within the canon events of TLJ. I included extra details in the end notes if you'd like to take a look before starting the fic.
> 
> The title is from Paramore’s “[Pool](https://open.spotify.com/track/3xCsHloPBl211Yi4UEUUcm?si=8iPantVUQKaTfVgr9Ax58A)."
> 
> Massive thanks to [sternfleck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternfleck) for their cheerleading the whole way through.

“General Hux. A moment alone, if you would.”

The tone is indecipherable, thanks to the accursed mask that the Supreme Leader wears. But it’s so unlike Ren to even _pretend_ at courtesy that it takes everything in Hux to not turn around and walk right out in deliberate defiance.

But he manages some approximation of “of course, Supreme Leader,” and stands in front of the throne while the other officers file out. The ones who hate him, the old guard of the Galactic Empire, pass him with smirks on their faces. They think he’s going to be punished for some imagined transgression.

Hux stares back at them coolly until the last of them have filed out and the door has closed behind them. Let them imagine, and only imagine, what sort of punishment Ren has for him this time around—he will not let himself be embarrassed in front of anyone like that again.

They’re alone now, in this circular chamber that Ren now calls a throne room—Ren lacks the patience for interior decorating, just like he lacks patience for anything else related to being the Supreme Leader, because none of the lavish touches of Snoke’s throne room are apparent here. Instead, the room is cold and austere, much like Ren’s previous quarters on the _Finalizer_ , the only source of light coming from the circular opening above Ren’s new throne.

The throne is the one concession he’s made to his new role—wide in the center of the circular room, the seat carved deep into the block of dark stone to accommodate Ren’s height. It’s supposed to intimidate, but Hux finds nothing menacing about it now, not with the Supreme Leader lounging on the throne like an overgrown child. Ren looks bored, as if he hadn’t _requested_ that Hux stay behind.

Hux, for his part, stays in perfect posture and at parade rest, well away from the Supreme Leader, hands clasped behind his back. There is no one else here anymore to insist that he kneel, and if Ren wants him to kneel, he can damn well push him down with the Force himself.

The crawling anxiety under his skin is nothing new and he brushes it aside. He’s spent his whole life at war—he knows he won’t die in his bed of old age. He’ll be lucky to make it past his fortieth year, between the realities of six years of war and the Resistance constantly nipping at their heels.

And now, there’s the added threat of the Supreme Leader’s hand around his neck. It’s hard to erase the memory of the Force squeezing tight around his windpipe and Ren’s snarling face or the unforgiving steel of the shuttle command console slamming against his ribs.

There is a reason they haven’t been in each other’s beds in nearly two years. Hux considered it, shortly after Ren solidified his rule, but he couldn’t abide the thought of crawling back to him after all that transpired, and Ren himself didn’t show interest in returning to their old habits.

No matter. The glory of the First Order is what’s important, he’s told himself, and if he has to suffer through sleepless rest cycles and all the indignities of being Ren’s favorite nemesis once again, then that’s what he’ll do. He’s done it before, he’ll do it again.

The First Order thrives under Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, and Hux’s only goal now is to ensure it keeps thriving.

Ren tips his head in acknowledgement. He’s wearing his mask today, likely for the Council’s benefit. They’re much more willing to step in line when Ren is at his most intimidating. To Hux’s surprise, though, he presses the release latches and removes it. His hair is slightly matted, not braided back like it sometimes is under the helmet.

“The blockade was your idea.” He stands from his throne, circling around it to the large viewport at the back of the room. He wears his uniform tunic today, neatly belted at the waist with no mystic robes in sight, although his lightsaber rests at his hip in place of a blaster.

“Yes,” Hux says after a beat of silence just a little too long. Ren was _there_ when they came up with the strategy, during a late evening in a reserved conference room with some of the other senior officers. For once, it was time spent productively—no shouting matches to be heard by patrolling stormtroopers during that shift.

Hux mostly relishes the memory of the sour look on Pryde’s face when he realized the Supreme Leader was actually taking _his_ advice for once.

All that aside, he and Ren do seem to work better together now, after their shared failures and the subsequent adjustment period; an unspoken, if temporary, truce exists between them now. Ren keeps him close for reasons of his own, whatever they may be, and Hux is always mildly surprised when he survives another encounter unscathed.

“If Naboo is truly surrendering, this bodes well for our efforts in the Mid-Rim,” he continues, when Ren says nothing more. “We can cut off their trade partners easily; none of the planets are equipped to withstand a blockade and they certainly don’t have the military forces to oppose us in other ways.”

Frankly, Hux was surprised Ren agreed to the blockade in the first place, and didn’t insist on storming down to the planet with his Knights of Ren to carve the people of Theed into pieces when they received word.

“They will surrender. I detect no deception from them,” Ren says, his back still to Hux as he gazes out the viewport, so Hux allows himself one very small roll of his eyes. The Force is fallible, as they all witnessed on Crait. Ren is a fool for continuing to rely so heavily on one single weapon in his arsenal.

“Reports from Theed say that it’s ready to blow. Entire neighborhoods are torn between First Order sympathizers and Resistance traitors. We should still prepare for heavy fighting when word gets out about the ceasefire.”

The locals don’t stand a chance against the Order’s stormtroopers or the might of the fleet, but a battle is a battle, and war is war, and Hux doesn’t think a surprise ambush would be out of the realm of possibilities. He hasn’t made it to where he stands now without preparing for all risks.

The few times he’s slipped… he lost Starkiller to a kriffing lucky shot, a large number of Star Destroyers and the _Supremacy_ to a suicide tactic, and Kylo Ren is now the Supreme Leader of the First Order instead of dead at his feet.

“It won’t matter,” Ren says, still staring out the viewport. “With the Hosnian system destroyed and Naboo under our control, the rest of the Mid-Rim will follow quickly. We already hold most of the Outer Rim and our ships are patrolling the Core. There will be nowhere for the Resistance to beg for help.”

He’s quoting Hux’s own words back to him, from that late night. As if this will gain him any favors, the melodramatic fool.

Hux clears his throat. All these dramatics, and for what? To tell him something he already knows? “Your orders, then, Supreme Leader?” Surely Ren must have some use for him right now, or else he could’ve dismissed him with the others instead of making him stand here to rehash a strategy they’ve been over several times by now.

It’s only then that Ren turns to look at him. Hux isn’t so sure that he likes the look in his eyes, the gleam in them. “I’m not a diplomat, General. Nor am I a politician. It appears my heritage gains me no favor in either respect.”

 _Tell me something new_ , Hux thinks to himself—if Ren is listening to his thoughts, at least he’ll hear the disdain. “Regardless of your political expertise, or lack of it, you’re the Supreme Leader. Our enemies would likely prefer to surrender to you directly.”

That’s a lie—he highly doubts anyone in the galaxy who could be counted as a First Order enemy would want to come face-to-face with the Supreme Leader.

“I will give them that. But I can send an emissary in my place for the negotiations after the surrender. I imagine it would be a tedious process for the Supreme Leader to sit through.”

It indeed would be a tedious process. Hux is a senior military official, with a place on the Supreme Council and a place on the former High Command, and even he’d agree that negotiations of this sort would likely drag on and on for days, to the consternation of everyone involved, even if the Order holds the advantage in negotiations. And to have Ren keep his large nose out of the whole ordeal sounds almost too good to be true.

“You don’t have a second-in-command. You barely have a Supreme Council. If you think they’re not already hovering like vultures, waiting for you to fail so they can swoop in for the kill, you’re sorely mistaken.” The words are out of Hux’s mouth before he can stop them.

Maybe this is why Ren wanted him alone, so he could root out his treachery.

Hux braces for the squeezing pressure of the Force around his neck.

But the violence he anticipates never comes.

Instead, Ren looks impressed, a little smirk on his lips like he’s been waiting for this response. “You’re right. I don’t have a second-in-command. What I do have is a treasonous Supreme Council, either too eager to watch me fall or too frightened to be worth the effort of killing them.”

Hux may not fall into either camp, but he still flexes his forearm slightly, to feel the bite of the straps holding his monomolecular blade in place. If Ren decides that today is the day he dies, he’ll go down fighting.

“I don’t need a second-in-command waiting for his chance to stab me in the back. What I need is someone who wants to tear this world down with me and build a new one.”

Hux narrows his eyes. He has a sinking feeling that he knows where this is going, despite Ren being even cagier than usual about his intentions. This is nothing more than a familiar song and dance between them. _Spit it out_ , _Ren_. _Spit it out so I can tell you no, again, to your face_.

Ren moves closer, towards him, but Hux stands his ground despite the sudden urge to step backwards, to leave the throne room before Ren does something to upset the delicate truce between the two of them that’s existed for over a year.

“You’ve tried to hide it from me lately, but I know what you want. I know the hunger you feel when you allow yourself to let go.”

Hux finds himself wishing the Supreme Leader would just look out the damn viewport again instead.

“Ren…”

The informality is a mistake, he thinks in dismay as it comes out of his mouth. Trusting Ren once was youthful folly on his part; it was a mistake to think he could control Ren through affection alone. Look what it’s given him—creeping anxiety, sleepless nights, and shadows of bruises that won’t fade from Hux’s eyes even as they faded from his skin.

Most of all though, it’s the damage to his pride that he won’t soon forget—Ren tossing him into a command console with a flick of his hand, in front of his crew. Stripping him of command while moving his flag to Pryde’s _Steadfast_ , as if that old relic of the Galactic Empire has any right to command the First Order fleet that Hux built. He sits on the Supreme Council, but everyone there knows of his disgrace and their contempt for Brendol Hux’s failure of a bastard son is as obvious now as it was years ago.

Hux could forgive the physical attacks after a while. It’s everything else that still hurts now.

“I can give you the galaxy, if you’d let me,” Ren whispers—yet his voice is as loud as if he’d shouted the words in Hux’s ear. His hands twitch by his sides, an aborted movement; he’s just remembered what he can’t do. Hux hasn’t let him touch him since Starkiller collapsed in on itself. “We’re so close to victory, and I need you by my side. Not as part of the Supreme Council. I need you _next to me_.”

Hux scoffs before he can help himself. Ren gets under his skin like no one else, makes him snap and lose his tightly-held control, and it is _infuriating_. “Because you and I had such a successful track record of working together prior to this?”

Ren shakes his head. “Haven’t you noticed? The Order’s greatest victories come from you and I, _together_. I thought it a trick at first, coincidences not worth paying attention to—even when we first met, I didn’t think anything of it, but Starkiller, Crait… when we clash, we fail.”

“You still harbor foolish daydreams from when we were young and didn’t know any better,” Hux snaps. Ren has promised him the galaxy at least ten times by now, but it’s still Ren who sits on the throne now, who holds the First Order in the palm of his hand, who’s left Hux to grovel for scraps. “This isn’t the fairytale romance of your New Republic childhood. You and I should have grown past these fantasies long ago.”

One day, he’ll be able to look at Ren and disregard their shared history, but today is not that day.

“What if I could promise you an empire?” Ren tries again. “I’ve seen it—visions of what we could be if we stood united. What we could rule over. I can show you.” He takes his glove off, holding out his right hand, palm upturned.

Hux stares at it, then up at Ren. Ren with his doe eyes and soft mouth despite all his efforts to harden himself, every emotion easy to read as they pass through his mind. Hux doesn’t need the Force to read him. The man has no sabaac face; it’s no wonder he resorted to the mask for all these years.

It helps that his hand trembles minutely as he holds it out. That, more than anything, convinces Hux that whatever _visions_ Ren thinks he’s seen, he believes in them. He’s seen Ren in closer quarters than anyone else alive in the galaxy, save his mother, and he knows when he’s trying to lie. This is not it.

Maybe it’s that last remaining strain of sentimentality that makes him remove his glove as well. If he could, Hux would take his monomolecular blade and carve that small, soft part of himself out. “Fine,” he grits out as he lays his bare hand over Ren’s.

It takes a moment, Ren’s power creeping across his consciousness and pushing him into the darkness, but Hux stands high above Coruscant’s glittering skyline when he opens his eyes again. He looks out the circular viewport that wraps halfway around the room and has just turned around to take in the rest of the obscenely large space when the doors open and Ren walks inside as if he belongs here.

It’s not the Ren he knows now, but older, though probably not wiser. Hux can see the tolls of age and war in the faint lines on his face.

He’s clearly dressed for a formal occasion with his sharp knee-length tunic and leggings, made from structured fabric with a subtle shimmer threaded into the black cloth. A sweeping cape falls down softly along his back until it just barely skims the floor. His lightsaber still dangles at his hip, despite the formality of the outfit.

Hux can’t imagine what someone had to threaten Ren with in order to get him into such ceremonial garments in the first place. The cape he wears has a red silk lining, for stars’ sake, and his boots, standard First Order-issue, shine in the natural light of the room from the obvious application of leather polish.

But what’s even more surprising is the slender circlet of gleaming black obsidian that rests on his dark hair, ending in two sharpened points right at his temples and extending slightly onto his forehead. Ren wears it effortlessly and with confidence, for someone who once eschewed the trappings of royalty.

Hux only notices now, as Ren walks right past him as if he’s not there, that he himself also stands in the room. It can’t be too far into the future, given their lack of obvious aging, but enough years have passed—they must have won the war and stamped out the last of the New Republic traitors. They would not be standing triumphant above Coruscant if they haven’t won.

There’s a greying streak in his counterpart’s hair, which is a shock to the younger Hux. He wears a formal white dress uniform to match Ren, complete with epaulets, in contrast to the sleek darkness of Ren’s outfit, with a similar red cape dangling off his right shoulder.

There are no rank stripes on his sleeve, but instead, there’s golden trim on the cuffs to match the fastenings of the cape and the chain holding his jacket collar closed. It paints a very regal picture—Hux can’t help but wonder what occasion warrants this from both of them.

“You’re not wearing the mask tonight? After all the fuss you put up about it initially?” the older Hux asks— he _teases_ , and it hints at familiarity, and a hint of fondness. Two things that maybe he and Ren once had, before their ambitions got in the way.

Hux watches as Ren gestures to a steel box sitting on a nearby table, unmarked with no decorations other than the locking mechanism on the side. “I don’t need the mask to intimidate a room of sniveling diplomats at a state reception, Chancellor.”

Hux has never seen the box, but the Chancellor clearly has, since he walks over to it and removes his glove to press his fingertip against the biometric reader with no hesitation. The box whirs to life and the lid withdraws into its compartment to reveal its secrets.

Hux makes his way closer to see as well—he can’t help his curiosity.

Inside is the twin to Ren’s obsidian crown resting on red satin lining, in bright gold rather than black glass.

When he looks up again, Ren is standing in front of his Chancellor, entirely too close for propriety’s sake. If they knew they had company, they wouldn’t be so intimate—Hux, neither the present nor future version, would never allow it.

Hux can only watch as the two of them—the Supreme Leader and the Chancellor—kiss, but then he’s gone, back in the darkness. He thinks he’ll open his eyes in the throne room next, but instead, Hux lives through Ren’s eyes as they flit around this potential future of theirs.

He barely manages to make sense of one vision before they’re onto another—he sees Star Destroyers, larger than even their Dreadnought-class ships, hovering in the sky above Coruscant. Ren in his Silencer, breaking through Coruscanti airspace towards a landing dock.

Glimpses inside the First Order’s capitol: a throne room, with a seat of cool black marble overlooking the city and an open-air plaza in the evening.

Hux again, in imperial whites with his datapad in hand, the same golden crown glimmering on his head that matches the trim on his sleeves, the buttons of his jacket, and the fastenings of the short cape he wears over it. He sits on the marble throne and there’s a gleam in his eyes as he looks at Ren striding through the doors of the throne room, as if he’d been looking forward to seeing him again.

Hux slams into the present with a gasp, disoriented and unsteady. He wobbles on his feet, nearly collapses, but Ren steadies him with his arms at his waist as he sinks down to his hands and knees. His heart pounds in his ears and he feels like the protein ration he’d eaten at the previous mealtime might come back up again.

Slowly, but surely, after long minutes of riding out the nausea and the steadily loosening pressure at his chest, Hux gathers himself and takes stock of his surroundings. They’re still in the throne room of the _Steadfast_ , and he holds onto Ren’s tunic like a lifeline. Ren, who kneels on the floor with him, hands at his waist as Hux sags against him.

It’s the most physical contact they’ve had in over a year.

“Now do you see? Do you understand?” Ren asks softly. He shakes from the effort of pulling Hux along into his Force visions, but Hux is reluctant to let him go while he calms his racing heart.

“So, that’s your plan? You and I rule together in perfect harmony, and we just hope we won’t kill each other in the process?” Hux sneers when he manages to shake off the lingering effects of his trip through Ren’s mind and straightens up. It’s a lovely dream, but still just a dream, no matter how his heart sings at the thought of all that _power_ , of Ren, within his grasp. He lets go of Ren and sits back on his haunches. “How many times have your visions actually come true?”

“We can _make_ it happen,” Ren insists. “The Force shows all possibilities, and this is one of them. You want it too; I know you do. Stand with me. Stand _next_ to me. I’ll give you the galaxy, you wouldn’t even have to ask.”

 _More empty promises_ , Hux wants to snap, but he wavers. There’s a faint nudging in his mind—Ren hasn’t left him completely yet.

 _We could be the two most powerful men in the galaxy, and you’d turn it down, just because it’s me?_ Ren asks carefully, like he’s afraid of the answer Hux will give, even though he could pluck the thoughts from his mind and find out for himself.

_I won’t stake my life’s work on some mystical vision of yours, with no guarantees that it’ll even happen. I’ve seen what happens when you chase hallucinations._

A low blow, to bring up Crait when they’ve silently agreed to _not_ talk about their failures above and on the planet, but Hux has plenty of reasons to be wary. Situations change. _People_ change. He is not the same man that Kylo Ren met six years ago, and the Kylo Ren of now is not the same man from six years ago either. They would barely even recognize their present-day selves, let alone each other.

_Well, we’re halfway there, aren’t we? Long live the Supreme Leader. And long live the Chancellor of the First Order._

Hux closes his eyes at the thrill that runs through him at the sound of the title. _Their_ titles.

Everything he wants, within his grasp.

“Don’t,” he says out loud, but far more weakly than he would’ve liked. “This is nonsense, Ren, do you hear yourself? We have enemies around literally every corner, and you want to live in this daydream and give them even more ammunition to take us down with?”

Kylo Ren is a weakness, a crack in Hux’s armor that he couldn’t rid himself of when he had the chance.

But weaknesses have their merits. He knows he has an opportunity here, if he could make himself reach out and take it. If Ren is a crack in his armor, then he is a gaping hole in Ren’s. Hux has had thousands of chances to kill him, but it’s nothing compared to how many times Ren could’ve killed him, but chose not to.

“Should I give you command of the _Steadfast_ for the time being?” Ren asks, as if this is something he can joke about. As if Pryde wouldn’t order Hux’s assassination before the words even finish coming out of Ren’s mouth. “Our enemies stand no chance against us if we’re united. What I showed you… it’s possible, but only with the two of us together. Do you believe in that, at least?”

Hux manages a scoff. “Well, I’ve always known _that_. You couldn’t rule your way out of the garbage chute.” He shoves his bare hand through his hair with a deep sigh, pushing back the strands that have broken free of the pomade and fallen in his eyes. And he doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out if he gets to his feet anymore, so he rises, pulling his glove back on as he does so.

Ren follows, holding onto him as if he’s afraid Hux might still tip over, or that he might walk out of the throne room and throw himself out the nearest airlock in an attempt to avoid him. They’re nearly the same height, but Ren’s imposing build has always allowed him to loom over Hux—when he wants to. Now, he tries to shrink himself down, to make himself less of a threat.

As if Hux didn’t already know that the source of Ren’s power isn’t just his physical strength.

He sighs again, taking in Ren’s pleading face, the throne room around them, and allows his thoughts to linger on what he’s seen. Regardless of their previous history, if this is how they can win, if this is how they stamp out the traitors and thieves that have been a thorn in his side for too long…

If this is how they finally bring order to the galaxy, how does he say no to that?

He can’t. He won’t.

“Where do we go from here?” he finally asks. This is as much as he can give him for now. Not a grand, melodramatic oath of loyalty—no, that’s Ren’s gimmick, not his— but a commitment, to start with. Surely Ren can’t blame him for being guarded after all that’s transpired between them.

He feels a shiver run up his spine—fear, there’s always an undercurrent of fear, but excitement as well. Adrenaline. Lust, even, if he digs down deep enough.

He’s been so cold since Crait, living on the edge of a precipice with no goal in sight, but now he burns.

Ren must sense it too, from the way he smiles—sharp and vicious. Like he knows he’s won this battle of wills. “We start with Naboo. Wasn’t it you who told me once to take our victories where we can?”

Hux absolutely lets himself roll his eyes this time. He thinks he deserves the break in decorum after the last half-hour of Ren’s bantha shit. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Supreme Leader. The politics of this aren’t as simple as you seem to think. Despite their pathetic attempt at a rebellion, Naboo is still too powerful for us to disregard completely in the negotiations. I expect those to take at least several days, and that doesn’t even include having to arrange for troops stationed on the planet, to permanently arrange for some of the fleet to patrol their trade routes—”

Ren hasn’t stopped holding him, and Hux falters when he realizes just how close Ren is. Closer than he’s been in months, and his eyes keep flickering to Hux’s mouth. The hunger that crackles between them now is just as familiar as anything else that’s happened over the course of their association, from the violence to the arguments in front of and behind Snoke’s back, to the way they come back together with new burdens to bear every time.

To how Kylo withdraws from him whenever he feels the pull of the Light, as if he’s afraid to face Hux while his soul splits apart.

Hux has no real use for ancient cults and mystical powers. He prefers the tangible power of weaponry and brilliant engineering over everything else. The proof of the First Order’s technological might is deployed across the galaxy, in what remains of the Hosnian system and Starkiller, but also in the hyperspace tracker installed across the First Order fleet and in every feat of weapons engineering he’s devoted his life to.

But there is a path forward for them now, and he’d be remiss in rejecting it.

Ren is close enough to kiss, their noses just barely brushing, but neither of them make a move. Until he reaches out, and adjusts the collar of Hux’s uniform tunic, and brushes his gloved thumbs lightly against his throat. A warning, but also a tender gesture.

Hux swallows, feels the slightest pressure there from Ren’s touch.

“I’ll bring you the galaxy, each and every planet, this I promise. But in return, you’ll come back to me after we’ve dealt with the insurgents on Naboo,” Ren murmurs as he tips their foreheads together.

He’s always been the more sentimental of the two of them, and Hux has worked that to his advantage from the beginning. This is just another step in that familiar direction.

But he likes the way Ren seeks his mouth now; not as desperate as he’d thought he’d be after their most recent falling-out, but unhurried, soft and patient as if they have all the time in the galaxy to indulge in this.

If his vision comes to fruition, maybe they do.

Ren bites at his bottom lip before he pulls back just enough to whisper, “and you and I, that’s when we’ll properly celebrate our victories, Chancellor. The galaxy will be ours for the taking.”

Hux does love the way his new title rolls off Ren’s tongue.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Tag notes:**  
>  \- Mentions of past one-time physical abuse/choking (references to the throne room scene in TLJ, Kylo throwing Hux into the command console on Crait)  
> \- Emotional manipulation: Kylo knows Hux is resistant to the idea of getting back together in a romantic/sexual sense and uses Force visions and the promise of future power to sway him. Hux is a willing participant in the end.
> 
> You can keep up with my musings and writing updates on both [Twitter](https://twitter.com/parttimewonders) and [Tumblr](https://part-timewonders.tumblr.com/). Happy Positivity Week, everyone!


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